Summer and Sunflowers
by sweet-and-simple
Summary: Ivan didn't want to bring it up.  He didn't want to remember.  All he wanted was his Matvey. RusCan Human names used


"_M-Mr. R-Russia, I-I'm s-s-sorry-" _

"_Sorry is not good enough." He giggled, his icy vivid violet eyes promising retaliation as he lifted his faucet pipe high. _

"_W-wait, Ivan!" Hands grabbed a hold of the faucet, trying to stop him from attacking. "It really is okay, eh? He di-" _

_The faucet pipe came down multiple times, each time with its own air-berating whistle, striking with solid 'cracks' that sent its prey to the floor, clutching his abused ribs with blood spurting from his lips._

_Latvia edged away, not nearly as willing as Mathew to take a blow for someone he hardly knew, and ran back to Lithuania and Estonia. _

_The world meeting had long since fallen to silence but now Alfred snarled, only Arthur and Francis holding him back from openly assaulting Russia. "YOU COMMIE BASTARD!" He howled balefully. _

_Kumajirou's roar mingled with Alfred's scream, the miniature polar bear wrestling in Prussia's arm to reach the side of his now fallen master._

_Mathew looked up to Ivan with hurt, betrayal, and pain in his cerulean blue eyes, his lips moving but no words being uttered. _

_Finally, after almost too long, he managed a question. "… W-why?" _

_And Ivan had no answer. _

OOOOOOO

He stared at the faucet pipe as if it were his enemy instead of his ally.

For three days, it had been resting quietly on the bed he had not too long ago shared with his Canadian lover in his Russian home.

He downed yet another bottle of vodka in one go before sending it flying into the corner of his room now littered with shattered glass.

Really, it was a dirty tool, wasn't it? It had touched Mathew's flesh, had bruised it, had made _blood_ swell up into his lover's mouth and then spew across the floor.

He remembered it all with gruesome clarity.

Had he meant for that to happen?

Another bottle of vodka was introduced.

That part of him that was Russia, that was everything terrible that had ever happened, that had been broken beneath the strenuous weight of his horrendous history, said _yes_ – oh, yes, he had meant for that to happen. He had _needed _that to happen because he was falling too far, too fast for a little _nobody_ who's only worth was his large land mass and _nothing else_. That little _nobody_ deserved what had happened to him for coming in between him and one of his ex-colonies, had more than deserved it – he had been _begging _for it.

Don't you remember those watery blue eyes before you sent the weapon flying? That was the look of someone asking to be punished for their insolence.

He shoved the dark thought away, remembering those eyes perfectly.

The vodka bottle broke in his tightened fist – luckily empty.

He remembered what they had looked like after he had hit him.

Mathew hadn't been expecting it. He had taken a fair amount of abuse from others (usually from being mistaken for Alfred), had come to learn to bear with being ignored, and was endlessly forgotten.

But Ivan had promised to remember him – to cherish him, to never hold his weapon against him.

"_I have killed many with this, da~" He giggled as he waved the pipe back and forth, the loose faucet atop moving with it. His giggles stopped when the swing of his pipe came an inch close to Mathew's both horrified and awed expression. "Do not vorry, Matvey." The weapon disappeared into his large overcoat. "It vill never harm you" – _

You're a liar. You should kill yourself. You found love and then you beat that love into the floor with the very weapon you were certain was never going to touch him.

He clutched at his head. _Shut. UP!_

But his newfound conscious continued until he was tempted to start screaming. Nonetheless, he was on his knees, forehead to the floor as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

"Just leave me alone…" He whimpered, feeling lost and forlorn once more.

That part of him that wasn't insane – wasn't broken – wailed in agony. Mathew had loved him; had wanted nothing more than to live with him, had spent his every free moment with him – _had dragged him out into the snow and made damnable snow angels with him until his property was one indent of a horribly disfigured winged being after another –_

He hated himself. He didn't need his conscious to tell him that.

He heard footsteps.

"If you value your life~" He trailed off in a childishly amused voice, a tone that belied entirely his dark and somber mood. "You vill leave me now, da~"

The footsteps paused.

A hand rested on his one shoulder.

His head jerked and lifted, spinning so quickly on his shoulders that his neck cracked as he directed a terrifying glare on the intruder. "I said you vill leave me alone _now-_…" His rage melted. His self-hatred grew.

His heart fell out of his chest and onto the pristine floor.

"M-Matvey?"

The blonde offered him a small, strained smile. "H-hi, Ivan… A-Alfred wouldn't let me leave h-his house, s-so I had to r-run away and that's what's taken m-me so long to c-come back…" He tilted his head, innocently curious, and frowned. "W-what's wrong, eh, Ivan?"

Thoughts were jumbled and dancing about in his head.

Why would he want to come back to _you_? Was he terrified that you would hunt him down if he didn't return? What if he only came back because he wants to tell you it's over? That he can't stay with a monster he fears will beat him at any moment?

What if he _hates_ you but is too kind to show it?

Yet there was one thought stronger than the rest:

He's _back_.

"Matvey…" He buried his head into Mathew's soft, lean belly, dragging the scent of syrup and snow deep into his lungs and holding it. "You came back to me…" He had to shift his body around to follow his skull, wrapping both arms firmly around Mathew's waist and tugging him close.

Even if he had only returned to call their relationship off, Ivan would soak up as much heat as he possibly could before it was officially over.

He felt the Canadian wince and, forgetting about the wounds he had earlier inflicted upon him, immediately assumed that it was a sign of how much Mathew detested him.

He can't even stand you touching him.

He hated his own mind where even he seemed against himself.

But then Mathew relaxed and chuckled lightly as he stroked Ivan's ash-blonde hair, looking down and meeting his vivid violet eyes. "I said I would, wouldn't I?"

"I did horribly things, Matvey."

"I forgive you for those horrible things. I'm still a little sore, sure – and Kumajirou isn't exactly fond of either of us at the moment… But I'm not angry with you and I hope you still love me, eh?"

"Da…" He stood up, swooping Mathew off of his feet and up against his chest. "I vill alvays love Matvey…"

He threw the faucet pipe off the bed – _you're not welcomed here_.

Mathew took its place, golden yellow hair fanning across the bed like the petals of a sunflower. His cerulean blue eyes were warm and kind, forgiving and not holding nearly the amount of fear Ivan was accustomed to.

"That's good, eh!" The Canadian laughed softly, cheeks sprinkling with color as Ivan descended over him. His smile dissipated into a frown. "… But it really wasn't Latvia's fault, Ivan…" He cupped Ivan's jaw in one hand as the Russian smiled coldly. "Everyone forgets my name… I'm used to it; you even used to forget it, eh?" His other hand rubbed Ivan's back.

Ivan didn't want to bring it up; didn't want to remember – _he wanted his Matvey_.

So he didn't answer. He kissed Mathew's palm and lowered his head, stealing a kiss that reminded him of maple syrup and pancakes – _sunflower seeds_.

Somehow, Mathew tasted of sunflower seeds; perhaps that was just him coming up with yet another reason to love Matvey, maybe it was completely his imagination, but _he tasted sunflowers_ _in Mathew's mouth_.

He never wanted to separate their lips. If he could, he would never let go of him, never let him out of his arms, never give him the chance to leave –

Stop that thought right there before it turns dangerous; before you're willing to hurt him to make him stay. You've already hurt him, now it's time to heal.

Mathew kissed both his eyes and wiped away the tears that swam there. "I-Ivan…" He pulled his face to his breast and Ivan listened to the strong, unstoppable beat of Mathew's heart. "W-we forgot your heart… on the floor over there, eh…"

Leave it there. He didn't care.

He became almost desperate, clawing at Mathew's clothes. "Matvey vears too much." He looks up into his cerulean eyes with all the earnest seriousness of a five year old determined not to cry over a bleeding knee. "Matvey should vear nothing."

The blonde sputtered. "I-I can't do that… Wh-what about when I have t-to go out in public, eh?" His eyes zipped everywhere about the room in his nervousness.

Ivan giggled. "Da, that is right! Matvey is so smart… I know!" There was a serrated blade in the calf of his boot; with a swift downward cut, Mathew was bare to his eyes and flushing red as if he was transforming into a tomato.

"I-Ivan-"

"Matvey vill vear this in public, da~" He held out the white button-up cotton shirt that had been beneath his overcoat. Somewhere between stripping Mathew and stabbing the knife into one of the bedposts, he had managed to strip down to his red boxers.

Mathew stared at him with horrified awe.

"Does Matvey not vant to vear my shirt?" He looked from it to Mathew.

He frowned; the shirt was slightly tattered, stitched together in places, and a shade darker than it had once been. Russia in general was not that rich a country – why should he, the personification of it, be any better?

In contrast, Mathew never had a tear in his clothing – his clothes were comfortable and inexpensive, but they were not sloppily done nor were they battered. The only piece of clothing Ivan had seen him wear day after day until its colors faded and it tore slightly was his prized Canada hoodie with the white maple leaf amongst the red backdrop.

"No…" Mathew took the shirt from him and slipped it on, the material pooling around his waist. "I… I would l-like to wear it… Thank you."

He was too adorable. Too precious, too amazing, too damnably _sexy_.

Yes – _sexy_.

Because Ivan's shirt was much too large for him, drooping off of his one moon-pale shoulder and revealing almost completely unmarred flesh.

Ivan's skin looked like a warzone – Mathew's was beautiful in its pale scars and small lacerations, nearly invisible to the unwatchful eye.

But he saw every one of them – and he loved them. Just as Mathew caressed and crooned over his every ancient wound, he brushed his calloused fingers across their simple curves and jagged lines – touching every scar not hidden by his shirt.

Ivan slipped smoothly into Mathew's body, feeling the tight little Canadian shake beneath his hands, his inner muscles flexing defensively against his invasion.

"I-Ivan!" Mathew's arched into the bed and he threw his head back, eyes wide and sightless as his mouth opened on a soundless gasp. "Ivan!" His hands clawed at the bed.

No. He needed Mathew facing him, not this way – _not like dogs in the alleyway, like uncaring morons_ –

He flipped his lover onto his back, pulling both of his smooth legs over his shoulders. He loomed over the blonde, a small smile on his lips – small, but _real_; happy and yet _sad_, because Mathew was so amazing, so everything that the world needed to heal and one day, _Mathew was going to slip through his fingers_ – and a forlorn light in his vivid violet eyes. "This… is better, da?"

Mathew cried out, nodding furiously as he pulled Ivan even closer.

Tension twisted in his gut like coiling fire, warming his insides and making him jittery, needy, desperate, _happy_.

He groaned as he moved deeply, every thrust sure and forceful until Mathew was one constant scream beneath him, nails clawing at his shoulders and back.

This was his summer. Right here, in his arms, _begging for more_, was his summer.

"Matvey…" He kissed him again, refusing to break lips, to untangle tongues, until nirvana jerked them from their agonizing pleasure into orgasm. "Matvey!"

"I-IVAN!"

They sagged into each other. Ivan shifted at the last moment to not land on Mathew's ribs, to instead slide to one side and drag the blonde instead onto him.

Caught in the lazy afterglow of their lovemaking, Ivan stared at the roof of the bed canopy with a delicate hum running through his veins and a nearly unconscious Mathew curled cutely on his chest, still wearing his shirt.

"I-Ivan…" Mathew slurred drowsily. "… Your heart's… makin' a big mess… eh…."

He looked to said organ pumping erratically on the floor.

The hardwood was now no more than a growing puddle of blood, his heart placed in the center of it. He weighed the options of getting up – leaving Mathew to himself – if only for a few seconds to wash the damnable thing off and then put it back in his chest, or just stay where he was.

He was definitely leading towards the latter.

OOOOOOO

"And that concludes today's world meeting. Our next conference will take place a month from now at Italy's home – " There was a 'Ve~' from Feliciano. "May all of you fair well till then." Ludwig shuffled his papers into order and set them to the side.

Feliciano was instantaneously at his side while Kiku followed at a slower rate, Heracles not too far behind him.

Ivan waited at the exit, feeling Alfred's glare drill a hole into the side of his head with visible amusement. Actually~ the glare was kind of making him hungry.

He was debating whether or not terrify the American by devouring his pitiful glower when a hesitant voice rang out:

"U-um… I'm sorry, but…. Who are you?"

Latvia was staring at Canada blankly. Some feet from him, Estonia and Lithuania tensed in horror.

Ivan's hand went into his overcoat and gripped the faucet pipe. "That is Matvey, da~" He approached the now quivering Latvia with a pleasant smile. "You do not remember Matvey?"

Latvia stuttered something but it was incoherent – unimportant.

_My Matvey took a beating for you and you can not even remember his name?_

A hand rested on his forearm, drawing his attention from the sobbing country and into the bright, watery cerulean eyes of his lover. "I-Ivan… It's o-okay, eh?"

But he was hesitant this time – unlike the first time where he had stepped in without another thought.

This time he held himself at the ready, stance saying that he was read to receive one painful blow after another.

He let go of the faucet pipe and instead wrapped the arm around Mathew's shoulders, tugging the blonde close to him. "Da~!" He agreed with a small giggle.

He looked at Mathew adoringly.

Beneath the simple brown suit jacket Mathew wore, Ivan's tattered cotton shirt was visible.

Kumajirou looked up to Ivan from the cradle of Mathew's arms and then looked away irately.

In the background, he could feel the shocked tension wafting from Alfred, Arthur, and Francis. Out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert and Cuba were glaring hatefully at him.

Fearlessly, he kissed Mathew then and there.

_You are all too late, da~ I have given Matvey everything he vants. And he has given me everything that I need._

Matvey was his summer and sunflowers.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay… So I was proud of this story up until the last section. However, I didn't want to stop it at the second section because I was _oh-so proud of myself_! I'm sorry for the abrupt and pointless ending… But I'm happy that I wrote something!

Love me?


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